e had sent by a messenger
a two-dollar bill and two bottles of Pain Paint, with the lordly
announcement that he would call in the evening and "present his
compliments and his thanks." The messenger left the Pain Paint on the
door-step of the tailor-shop, and the two dollars he promptly spent at
the Trois Couronnes.

Rosalie Evanturel rescued the bottles from the doorstep and awaited
Charley's return to his shop, that she might take them over to him, and
so have an excuse to speak with him; for to-day her heart and mind were
full of him. He had done a brave thing for the medicine-man, and had
then fled from public gaze as a brave man should. There was no one to
compare with him. Not even the Cure was his superior in ability, and
certainly he was a greater man--though seemingly only a tailor--than M.
Rossignol. M. Rossignol--she flushed. Who could have believed that the
Seigneur would say those words to her this morning--to her, Rosalie
Evanturel, who hadn't five hundred dollars to her name? That she should
be asked to be Madame Rossignol! Confusion mingled with her simple
pride, and she ran out into the street, to where her father sat
listening to the medicine-man singing, in doubtful French:

"I am a waterman bold,
Oh, I'm a waterman bold:
But for my lass I have great fear,
Yes, in the isles I have great fear,
For she is young, and I am old,
And she is bien gentille!"

It was night now. The militia had departed, their Colonel roaring
commands at them out of a little red drill-book; the older people had
gone to their homes, but festive youth hovered round the booths and
sideshows, the majority enjoying themselves at some expense in the
medicine-man's encampment.

As Rosalie ran towards the crowd she turned a wistful glance to the
tailor-shop. Not a sign of life there! She imagined M'sieu' to be at
Vadrome Mountain, until, glancing round the crowd at the quack-doctor's
wagon, she saw Jo Portugais gloomily watching the travelling tinker of
human bodies. Evidently M'sieu' was not at Vadrome Mountain.

He was not far from her. At the side of the road, under a huge
maple-tree with wide-spreading branches, Charley stood and watched John
Brown performing behind the flaring oil-lights stuck on poles round his
wagon, his hat now on, now off; now singing a comic song in English---'I
found Y' in de Honeysuckle Paitch;' now a French chanson--'En Revenant
de St. Alba